"Was that absolutely necessary?" Oliver gestured dramatically as he sneaked behind Sofia, who was occupying a gaudy, conspicuously comfortable golden chair next to him, fit for a period movie with a dubious budget. With a sigh, Sofia exhaled a restrained laugh, her words echoing through the adorned walls in a theatrical whisper.

"Oh, the elite simply loves extravagance that borders on the absurd." Sofia laughed softly, nearly choking on the pretentious wine as she tried to hide her amusement. They both remained there, mouths agape and eyebrows raised, watching a circus troupe whose ability to transform the Waldorf Astoria dining hall into a fantastically artistic spectacle was as impressive as it was questionable. There they were, representing none other than British nobility due to an unexpected and quite inconvenient mishap from the Queen.

"Do you have any idea how much this... eccentric performance costs?" Oliver murmured, grimacing as if he had tasted the concept of extravagance and found it unpleasant.

Sofia, always the voice of reason laced with sarcasm, sighed. "Exorbitant, no doubt," she agreed, "But Oliver, it's not like it's anything new for these people."

"It's absurd," protested Oliver, feeling a mix of fascination and horror as an acrobat, dressed in little more than bravery, performed a death-defying and indecent act just meters away from their shocked expressions. "This is more of a cardiac endurance test than entertainment."

"How about we escape for a bit?" Sofia proposed with a casualness that completely contrasted with the elegant chaos around. Oliver's panicked expression must have been a spectacle in itself.

"Escape? How?" he returned, incredulous.

With a smile worthy of a cinematic climax, Sofia reached over the table, intertwining her fingers with Oliver's in a complicity only the best partners share. "Simple. We have exactly sixty seconds to come up with a convincing excuse and leave before the Prime Minister approaches us with his theories about extraterrestrial life and the fuel crisis."

Oliver's furtive glance met the animated figure of the Prime Minister, the Right Honorable Lord Harrington, who — armed with his well-known conspiratorial theorems — waved at them with an enthusiasm that promised a long conversation.

"Damn, he's coming," Oliver whispered, forcing as natural a smile as possible towards the hurried Lord Harrington.

"Quick, make your best expression of discomfort," instructed Sofia, and Oliver, a master of dramatic art, contorted his face in a convincing display of discomfort.

With the skill of an actress about to take the stage, Sofia, firmly holding Oliver's hand in hers, positioned herself between him and the imminent arrival of Lord Harrington. The warm tone of her greeting sounded as genuine as possible.

"Ah, Lord Harrington," Sofia proceeded with a respectful voice. "What an honor to have you with us! However, I'm afraid we're facing a small setback." The distraction was evident, and Oliver, playing his part, tried to look as unwell as possible.

"Yes," he admitted, letting out a subtly theatrical groan. "I'm feeling a bit... indisposed."

The Prime Minister's expression registered sudden concern, a comical shift from his previous enthusiasm.

"Oh, but that's terrible," he exclaimed, placing a hand on his chest in a gesture of genuine sympathy. "We can't have our royal representative fall ill. Perhaps you two should retreat and rest."

"Your understanding is immensely appreciated," Sofia said gratefully. She then leaned subtly, her lips close to Oliver's ear, but loud enough for Lord Harrington to hear. "Let's just get some fresh air, perhaps a breeze will revive us."

Nodding with respectful bows and murmurs of thanks, they began their strategic retreat, almost as if they were leaving the stage after the final act of a complex play. As they moved away, Oliver could hear Lord Harrington starting to discuss recent trends in extraterrestrial politics with a nearby group, who listened attentively.

As they left the frenzy of the event behind, the streets of New York welcomed them with its incessant vibe. The contrast was sharp, almost tangible; leaving behind the suffocatingly perfect atmosphere of luxury, they launched themselves into the arms of the pulsating city with an indomitable heart.

It was as if they were trading one world for another, and frankly? The change only seemed more vivid, more real to Oliver.

"You made me lie to the Prime Minister!" Sofia declared, her voice carrying a theatrical touch, but her eyes shone brighter than the jewels at the party.

As they weaved through the crowd, the city's lights bathed the streets in a glow that rivalled the stars hidden by the urban brightness, and the hum of the crowd propelled their hurried steps.

"You know what?" Sofia stopped abruptly, her gaze captured by a hot dog stand ahead. The inviting aroma of freshly prepared hot dogs enveloped them, awakening their senses. "I'm still hungry." She pointed, and Oliver simply nodded, intrigued by the adventurous sparkle in her eyes.

With a sigh of relief, Sofia slipped off her shoes, savoring a moment of well-deserved comfort. As they devoured the hot dogs, seasoned with mustard and ketchup, Oliver couldn't help but laugh at the improvised scene they found themselves in. Sitting side by side on the curb, surrounded by hurried New Yorkers, they were just two anonymous faces in the crowd.

"From nobility to commoners in just one night," Oliver joked, eliciting a smile from Sofia.

In that moment, as the initial euphoria of the evening faded, a subtle veil of melancholy took hold of him. Memories of escaping with Ian from events like that to hide and lose themselves in each other in the shadows of palaces, castles, or deserted streets flooded his mind, painting their brief escape with a bittersweet tone. Sofia, always perceptive, sensed the subtle change in Oliver's mood and, with a gentle touch on his arm, sought to close the gap of his sudden introspection.

She looked at him, her eyes brimming with deep understanding. "Are you alright, Oliver?" Her voice sounded sweet amid the city's noise.

Oliver forced a smile, seeking to reassure her. "I'm fine, just thinking," he replied, internally grateful for having someone with such an attentive heart by his side.

And then, their gazes intertwined, Sofia's eyes, a sea of empathy and affection, questioning him without needing words. "How long has it been since you last spoke to him?"

Oliver exhaled a sigh, lost in the contemplation of the urban lights. "It's been a while. With the avalanche of commitments and so many social events, it feels like there's no space left for us."

Sofia squeezed his arm, a firm gesture of support to the sadness that enveloped him. "I'm sorry," she offered gently before discarding the rest of her snack. "Life has taken some unexpected turns, hasn't it?"

Oliver nodded, letting out a sigh laden with the weight of so many concerns. "Definitely. With grandmother getting worse, the pressures of royalty increasing... I just don't know what to do anymore."

Sofia absorbed his words, her gaze now revealing a vulnerability she rarely allowed to emerge. "You know, I never imagined things would end up like this. At this stage in life, I thought I'd have a different marriage, maybe even a family." Her raw honesty hit deep, reverberating uncomfortable truths.

"You thought about that?" Oliver asked, genuinely surprised. The possibility of a family had always seemed distant, almost unreal.

"Of course, Oliver. You're my husband," she replied with a melancholic smile. "I just turned 26. I know our marriage happened under unusual circumstances, but it's as real as anything we've experienced here. Maybe it's time we start looking at it that way."

The words echoed in Oliver's mind, forcing him to confront a reality he had been avoiding. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, with a hint of apprehension.

Sofia sighed, maintaining his gaze. "Oliver, I know I was the one who proposed this marriage to you, and I know very well under what circumstances, but I've been reflecting, and I didn't think about what it would mean for me. I want a family. And you are my only chance."

"But Sofia, I..."

Before Oliver could argue, she continued. "I know you don't love me, but does any couple united by royal decree really love each other?" She questioned, raising a valid point if they were to debate. "I'm not giving you an ultimatum, much less invalidating your love for Ian, but I think you should start seeing me as someone who is part of your life."

◃───────────▹

Sofia's words echoed incessantly in Oliver's mind as they quietly returned to the hotel. As usual, they reserved the same room but requested one with an extra sofa or bed — where he would spend the night, while she reluctantly accepted the main bed.

But that night, consumed by remorse, Oliver allowed himself to be devoured by the green-eyed monster. As they approached the reception, Sofia gently extended her hand towards him; in response, he intertwined his fingers with hers, maintaining the theatrical facade of intimacy, convincing to any onlooker.

Before heading to the elevator, however, Oliver caught her attention: "How about a quick drink?"

"Sure, I'd love to," she agreed naturally and headed to the adjacent bar.

They chose a table at the back, in an isolated, dimly lit area; Sofia sat next to Oliver, holding her cherry martini, patiently waiting for him to take the initiative to break the silence between them.

"We never had a chance for this," Oliver began, seizing the moment while Sofia observed around, idly tapping the stem of the cherry in her glass.

She relaxed, exhibiting a comfort far removed from the rigidity of the diplomatic obligations they had recently discarded. "For what?" Sofia inquired, and quickly, he clarified.

"To talk. To really get to know each other."

A soft laugh escaped her lips. "You forgot your title, didn't you? Your world is an open book to me."

Oliver's gaze shifted, slightly uncomfortable with this natural reaction from people.

"Fair enough," he conceded, savoring the last drop of his whiskey, evoking memories of Ian and his preference for the drink, always served with ice. "Seems like you're ahead in this game. How about giving me a chance to close the gap? Tell me about yourself."

"Well, I'm the youngest of four siblings, but we're not very close," Sofia began, choosing her words carefully. Her gaze wandered around the intimate bar, the amber lights casting dancing shadows on her face. "I like jazz and classical music, though opera isn't really my thing." She hesitated, her fingers playing absently with the stem of the cherry in her martini. "My biggest passion is horseback riding, as you already know, and I have a weakness for cheesy romantic comedies."

The diversity and superficiality of the information made Oliver smile. The woody aroma of the whiskey enveloped them, transporting him to another time.

"Such varied interests, all on the same spectrum," he observed, and she laughed, a light and carefree gesture that contrasted with the recent tension.

"Exactly," Sofia agreed, before casting a deep look around the cozy bar. The golden glow gave a special shine to her blue eyes. "Do you remember when we first met?"

"Of course," Oliver assured, but more memories of that night with Ian, revealing secrets in the bathroom of the Swedish royal palace, surfaced. He cleared his throat, imagining she was certainly referring to a different moment.

"You think," she retorted, a cunning smile adorning her crimson lips. "But it was years before, at the Munich Security Conference. It was the first time I saw myself in a public event, and you navigated it as if you belonged to that world. I remember, because I admired your natural ability to handle such occasions."

"Really? That's news to me," Oliver admitted, surprised by such a revelation. The ice clinked softly as he lifted the glass to his lips.

"Since that night, my father saw you as a target," she continued, the lightness disappearing from her expression. Her gaze lowered, as if reliving bitter memories. "He spent hours negotiating with the Queen about alliances, marriages, and dynastic unions. If he could, that very night, he would have offered me in marriage to your family."

Hearing this, Oliver frowned, indignation bubbling in his chest. It was more than an arrangement; it was a disrespect to Sofia's autonomy.

"I grew up under the stigma that I would marry Prince Oliver, expected to be a princess molded to their expectations: delicate, feminine, sweet, and pretty as porcelain," she rolled her eyes, perhaps reliving the moments of such oppressions. "I hated every second of my parents suffocating me, controlling my life to fit the choice of someone who had never seen me."

"I'm sorry, Sofia, that's..." Oliver hesitated, searching for the precise words. The shine of the lights reflected in the amber liquid of his glass. "Absolutely horrible."

"I defied my father's expectations at every possible moment: I refused the university career he had planned for me, I dedicated myself to a hobby seen by many as exclusively male, I even got a tattoo," she explained fervently. Raising her arm, she revealed the delicate design on her wrist for the second time — a symbol of her struggle for autonomy and identity. "Even with all my resistance, my father insisted on seeing me not as his daughter, but as a valuable jewel to be traded for the prosperity and security of the kingdom." Her voice was laden with bitterness, as if each word were a sharp blade.

A dry laugh escaped her lips. "Fortunately, it was you and not some unscrupulous noble, who wouldn't hesitate to use me to satisfy his own vile desires, something that would certainly be seen as one of the 'duties' of a wife."

"Fortunately, it was you, and not some unscrupulous noble who wouldn't hesitate to exploit me to satisfy his own desires, something that would certainly be seen as one of the duties of a wife to fulfill," she assessed, her tone laden with a mixture of relief and disillusionment. Her fingers played absently with the stem of the cherry, twirling it in the empty glass.

"I would never do something so repugnant," Oliver hastened to assure, hoping his words conveyed the sincerity of his promise. For a brief moment, the tension in Sofia's shoulders seemed to dissipate, and she gifted him with a tender, albeit faint, smile.

"I know," she admitted in a murmur. "And that, at least, is a comfort."

A silence hung between them, dense as the smoke from a recently extinguished cigarette. Then, driven by sudden curiosity, Oliver asked, "Do you really want to have a family? With me?"

Sofia raised an eyebrow, visibly surprised by the unexpected question. For a moment, Oliver held his breath, fearing he had crossed an invisible line.

"Well, Oliver," she began after a calculated pause, "since this commitment was made, I've noticed you live in the hope that Ian will come to rescue you." Her words were as sharp as blades, making him involuntarily flinch. "As if ignoring my existence was easier than accepting that our union is not just a sham."

Oliver's throat tightened, the words refusing to come out. Sofia's expression was challenging, yet her eyes were devoid of hostility or judgment. He remained silent, unable to refute her accurate observation.

"You see," she continued with cutting frankness, "as I've said before, I've always been against the rigidity of protocols and, above all, against the way our families threw us at each other like pieces on a strategy board." She emptied her glass, the tinkling of ice against the glass echoing in the tense air. "I proposed an escape route, a less exhausting exit that ended up involving Ian. I never regretted that suggestion," she paused significantly, "but I never imagined the bond between you two would be so intense as to make me a thorn constantly stuck in your path."

Her words opened a chasm of guilt in Oliver's chest. The woody fragrance of the whiskey seemed suffocating. It was never his intention to isolate himself in a bubble with Ian, neglecting everyone around him, especially Sofia, who found herself alone, far from home, without any close friendships, and having left behind her beloved horse. His selfish behavior now seemed intolerable to him.

"What do you expect from me now?" he asked with a sincere desire to alleviate the pain caused by his insensitivity.

Sofia gifted him with a warm, yet faint smile, a mix of resignation and hope. "Just don't see me as your adversary," she proposed simply, contrasting with the complexity of the situation. "After all, we're in this mess together."

Oliver felt a wave of relief flood his chest at her guidance. "We can be friends," he declared, a note of optimism permeating his voice.

She nodded affirmatively, her smile now reflecting genuine satisfaction. The intimate atmosphere of the bar seemed more welcoming, the shadows no longer so oppressive.

◃───────────▹

"What was the craziest thing you've ever done?" Sofia asked after long hours of conversation, when they were the only ones left in the empty establishment.

"Besides falling in love with a palace employee? Or exposing myself like that in the biggest hotel in Sweden?" Oliver joked, eliciting a delighted laugh from Sofia. "I also confronted a king... and the Queen herself..."

"It's a miracle they still consider you part of the royal family," Sofia commented, subtly challenging him with her provocation.

"I lived in Paris for an entire year," Oliver revealed when the laughter subsided. Sofia raised her eyebrows, genuinely surprised. "That's something you didn't know about me. There, I shed all royal restrictions. I lived like an ordinary person, writing and studying, eating pizza on Wednesday nights, drinking at university parties..."

"Wow, I didn't expect that!" Sofia exclaimed, leaning over the table with interest. "Tell me more... what was your life like there? Very different from here?"

"Quite," Oliver agreed. "There, I was just another face in the crowd, master of my own destiny, living each day as I wanted, without protocols or supervision. It was very liberating."

"I can imagine," Sofia commented, thoughtfully. Her eyes took on a nostalgic glow. "Sometimes I envy that freedom. Living always under the spotlight can be suffocating, always watched, always exposed..."

She sighed deeply, her gaze unfocused for a moment. Then, her lips curved into a mischievous, almost conspiratorial smile.

"And the parties? Did you have any secret romance? Any passionate affair with a French muse?" She asked, her tone curious, insinuating the possibility of a romantic encounter with a Parisian beauty.

Then, realization hit Oliver abruptly. His expression became somber as he leaned towards Sofia.

"Sofia..." The seriousness tinged Oliver's features, his eyes acquiring a darker shade. The momentary panic that crossed Sofia's face suggested she feared she had made an unforgivable slip. "Ian is not my exception," he confessed, revealing nuances of his identity that he rarely allowed to surface. "You understand what I'm trying to say, right?"

Oliver had never been one for long explanations. To him, the essence of his existence lay in being authentic, without adhering to social labels or others' expectations. However, if they were to stick to technicalities, Prince Oliver was far from interested in a woman.

"You scared me," Sofia admitted after a moment of tense silence. Her gaze, however, conveyed sincere acceptance. "Sorry for the wrong assumption. But honestly, it doesn't change my view of you at all."

The tension in Oliver's shoulders eased with her understanding response. "And you?" he asked casually. "Any secret romances?"

A deep blush colored Sofia's cheeks, and she looked away to the table covered with immaculate linen, discomfort evident in her features. "You'll think it's pathetic," she confessed in a low voice.

"Come on," Oliver teased with a relaxed smile, trying to lighten the mood. Sofia let out a stifled laugh. "You know more embarrassing things about me than probably my own family."

"Well, I had my moments, yes," she conceded to his palpable curiosity. "But nothing that could be called intense." A wave of compassion swept over Oliver, so evident in his gaze that Sofia pretended indignation. "Don't look at me like I'm at death's door. I'm not about to kick the bucket."

A amused laugh escaped Oliver's lips as he raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"I just think..." He hesitated, wondering if he should delve so deeply, but the growing connection between them served as encouragement. "It seems absurd that you've never fully given yourself to anyone. But I understand. I didn't know what I was missing until Ian came into my life."

Sofia offered him a smile laden with a gentle melancholy. "You really love him, don't you?"

"Like crazy," Oliver admitted, Ian's absence completely overwhelming him. An urgent need arose within him. "Excuse me for a moment? I need to make a call."

Sofia nodded affirmatively, her expression a mixture of understanding and sadness, as Oliver withdrew to the bar's exterior, quickly taking his phone out of his pocket.

"Oliver?" Ian's sleepy voice broke the nighttime silence, causing an involuntary shiver in Oliver. His eyelids felt heavy as lead, hot tears threatening to overflow. "Is everything alright? Did something happen?" The poignant concern in his tone was almost palpable.

Oliver needed a few moments to find his voice, raw emotion overtaking him completely. "No, nothing happened. I... just desperately needed to hear your voice."

Ian hesitated, silence hanging between them. "Are you sure? Is your grandmother okay?"

A bitter exasperation coursed through Oliver as he confronted the harsh reality of the distance separating them. "I spent the entire night talking about you," he confessed, a bitter laugh punctuating the admission. "And ironically, it only intensified this aching longing, Ian."

Another pause, as Ian struggled to decipher the meaning behind Oliver's words.

"Oliver, what are you trying to tell me?" Though apprehensive, his peculiar sense of humor shone for a moment. "I just woke up, so I'll need you to be clearer."

"I want you to come back," Oliver declared with urgency, baring his heart. Ian fell silent, stunned. "I want you with me, no matter where it is. New York, London... Anywhere, as long as I don't have to settle for loving you only in my memories."

After a long and heavy sigh, Ian cleared his throat, his voice filled with determination.

"Baby, can you wait? I'm coming to you."